


alderaan places

by nymja



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Flower Shop & Tattoo Parlor, F/M, Florist Ben, Fluff, Modern AU, Valentine's Day, tattoo artist Rey
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-23
Updated: 2018-02-23
Packaged: 2019-03-16 12:55:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,661
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13636725
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nymja/pseuds/nymja
Summary: A girl breaks into a flower shop.





	alderaan places

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Plutoascending91](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Plutoascending91/gifts).



> treat for PlutoAscending91 <3 hope you like it!!

It’s the end of the day, and he’s ready to close. His workstation is in chaos-- ribbons and scissors and tape and cardstock sprawled out in heaps that no longer have any rhyme or reason to them. Ben eyes the disaster for a few moments before he decides to take a step backwards, flip off the switch, and close the door. It’s only going to be just as chaotic tomorrow, as the Valentine’s Day surge continues to hit First Order Flowers.

He turns back to the display room, making his slow rounds of checking the refrigerator units, ensuring the tropical plants are getting enough water, and giving his high maintenance exotics enough plant superfood in their dirt. Ben is moving to the back window display, preparing to lock up, when he notices something strange in the middle of flora and vases.

One, mud-caked motorcycle boot peeks out from underneath a table curtain.

He frowns, fingers going to his back and slowly undoing the apron string. As he walks closer, he assumes that the motorcycle boot has a leg attached to it. Or at least, he hopes it does, as he bends over to lift the table curtain.

The boot, indeed, belongs to a leg. Even though it’s covered in so many bright tattoos that it looks like leggings or something. His eyes trail up, seeing that the leg goes up to hips that are covered in beat to hell jean cut-off shorts, that an old cream tank top is tucked into the waist of the cut-offs, and that brown, wavy hair hangs over the shoulders of the tank. The pieces eventually register in his mind as a girl. 

A girl. Is under his table. His eyes narrow, as he looks at her face. Her arms, like her legs, are covered in tattoos--the side he can see is fully covered in a sleeve of ocean waves and craggy rocks. Her hands, also covered in ink and ending in chewed down nails, hold a sketchbook in between them. And her head is tilted down, face scrunched in concentration as she stares down one of his arrangements-- a pot holding four miniature phalaenopsis orchids. There’s multiple piercings in her ears and one through her nose.

He eyes this...this  _ gutter punk  _ with disdain. “We’re closed.”

She doesn’t even look at him, waving her left hand dismissively. “I’m almost done.”

“This is my store.”

“I got permission.”

“What are you talking about?”

The girl--woman, she’s in her 20s, if he had to guess--turns to face him. Her hazel eyes are bright and vibrant and her nose and cheeks are smattered with freckles. “Close that, would you?”

“I’m trying to.”

“Not the store--the table cloth. My lighting’s all screwed up.”

“Either buy the arrangement, or go.”

She frowns. “Han said it was alright.”

As soon as the words come out of her mouth, it all lines up. The motorcycle boots, the ink and piercings. The shorts splattered with grease and oil stains. She’s one of  _ dad’s. _

“Han has his own shop,” Ben says tightly. “So go back to it. I’m closing.”

She looks at him, disappointed, then back to the arrangement. “Ten more minutes? And then I’ll buy you coffee.”

He doesn’t feel like dragging her bodily away from some of his most expensive flowers. Nor does he think it will be good for business if a punk is thrown out of a florist’s after hours. So he grinds his teeth and growls out a “ _ Fine _ ,” before he drops the curtain down.

There’s the sound of a pencil scratching on paper, and Ben shakes his head before he goes to count down the till for a second time.

\--

“Fucking shit!”

Ben closes his eyes, counts to three, and continues locking up the shop. “What?”

“It’s cold as balls out here.”

He turns, seeing her standing in her cut-offs and her tank top and her boots and rubbing her shoulders over and over. He’s dressed in a red sweater with a black pea coat over it, a black scarf wrapped over his neck and lower face.

“It is February,” he says dryly.

She sends him an acidic look. “I know that. I just forget.” At his skeptical stare, she clarifies. “I’m from Jakku. Only been here a few weeks.”

Jakku. He takes a moment to place it. “The desert.”

“That’s right.” She shivers. For a moment he thinks about giving her his scarf, then decides that it’s not his responsibility if she doesn’t know how to wear a jacket. 

She juts a thumb over her shoulder. “Poe’s is just a block over, let’s go.”

Ben grimaces. He hates Poe’s. And Poe. He doesn’t know how he feels about her yet,  other than annoyed. “Just leave.”

She rolls her eyes, grabbing his arm. “I’m freezing, and I owe you coffee. So don’t bother arguing. I’ll just ignore you. And I’m stronger than I look, so don’t think I can’t drag you, because I can and I will.”

He looks down at her. She tugs, insistent.

And Ben lets her drag him around the corner.

\--

Poe’s is run by his...childhood friend, of sorts. The two had grown up in the same neighborhood, at least. But they weren’t close.

“Hey Bennie Beans!”

Case in point. Ben immediately scowls at the barista behind the bar, who only smirks in return. On the floor of the coffee shop, a little orange, plastic ball runs up and down the length of the floor. Dameron’s pet rodent, BeeBee. He has half a mind to report him for health code violations.

The woman who is wasting too much of his time finally lets her hand drop from his arm. “Bennie, then? I’m Rey.”

“ _ Ben,”   _ he corrects.

“Ben,” she echoes, taking a step back and rubbing her bare arms. “What can I get you?”

He looks at her.

Maybe for a little too long, because she narrows her eyes. “...right. Black coffee?”

He grunts, unwrapping his scarf and shaking out his hair.

She--Rey--rolls her eyes, before heading to the counter. And Ben purposefully finds the chairs that look most uncomfortable in the coffee shop.

He doesn’t want to stay long.

\--

Two hours later, and he hasn’t left yet. Part of him silently accuses her of holding him hostage, but there isn’t any logic behind it. He’s a grown man, with at least half a foot on her. He can get up and leave if he wants.

Maybe he just...doesn’t want to.

“Alright, how about this one?” Rey absently sips at her tea with one hand--a second refill, which had earned him a raised eyebrow from Poe--and flips to the next page in her sketchbook with the other. 

He stares down at it. A cluster of daisies are grouped together. He sips at his drink. “Are you going for transvaal or gerber?”

“What?”

Ben clears his throat, looking down. “...it was a joke.”

“How?”

“Nevermind." Ben rolls his shoulders back, looking at the sketch again. “It looks okay.”

“Just okay?”

“They’re daisies,” he mutters. “Not much to them.”

“I didn’t know there was a hierarchy,” she says, a little tense. Rey bites down on her lower lip, and flips to another page. “Alright, one more and then I’m done. Swear it.”

Ben doesn’t know why he can’t just give her a compliment like a normal person. Truth be told, he’s impressed with Rey’s art. The still-lifes and tattoo designs in her sketchbook do a good job of capturing the plants. When she goes for illustrative, rather than realism, he can still immediately identify what flower is supposed to be what-- even the more complicated flora like the orchids she was sketching earlier. All the designs have clear composition and good balance to them-- they’re as carefully placed on the paper as they are in his arrangements.

The page flips over. On it is an arrangement of peonies, drawn in a Japanese art style Ben recognizes as being common in tattooing.

“I’m doing this one tomorrow,” she states, gesturing around the flowers with a finger that has a chewed-up nail and scuffed black polish. “Chest piece. Kind of a pain in terms of placement, really.” She taps one of them, shaded lighter than the others. “It’s not looking right around here, but I can’t really say why.” Her gaze flicks up to meet his, and he stares and almost misses her question. “Any input from the expert?”

He blinks, ears feeling warm. In terms of translation, the flower looks the same as any photograph. But… “Too many petals.”

“What do you mean?”

Ben traces where her finger just was. “Peonies are a pain in the ass,” he says bluntly. “And it looks like you have wind or something going through them. There’s no way it’d still have all its petals.”

Rey takes the sketchbook back, holding it out in front of her. She tilts her head, her tongue sticking out of the corner of her mouth as she evaluates and Ben watches her. “You know, I think you’re right on this one.”

“Thanks,” he mutters, before he helps himself to another gulp of his coffee. Around the third order, he felt more comfortable admitting to Rey that he liked his with honey and cinnamon.

“Hold on, don’t leave yet,” she orders, even though he’s made no move to do so. 

Hastily, she takes the pencil tucked behind her ear and starts erasing. Her brows furrow, face scrunched in concentration, as she begins to make her adjustments. Muted, he just watches her, something about her single-minded focus alluring. After what might be ten minutes, she turns the sketchbook around once again.

“How’s it now?”

Ben looks down. The lighter peony has been adjusted, its petals flying off and curling into an imaginary wind. The change makes it look more active.

“Elevated,” he says.

Rey snorts. “Pretentious.”

“It’s a compliment,” he explains slowly.

“Thanks, then.” Rey seems to catch herself. “I mean it, thanks for your help. It does look a lot better.”

Ben doesn’t say anything, only looks away again. His ears feel like they’re burning now. “Didn’t want any mistakes to be permanent.”

Rey sighs. “Are you always this frustrating a human being?”

“Yes,” comes Poe from somewhere in the back of the coffee shop.

Ben grips his cup tighter. Poe’s stupid hamster runs over his foot.

\--

They have another half a cup of whatever they’re drinking before they go their separate ways. They don’t talk much, but Ben finds he doesn’t mind it like he does with other people. He thumbs through her sketches, giving unsolicited feedback when he feels the need, but otherwise they just watch each other, or the window to the side of their table.

Eventually, she gets a text from her roommate and needs to take off. She pats his hand, thanks him again, and tears out the sketch of the orchids she was drawing earlier. Once she’s gone, and he’s still staring at the artwork she left (for him? It must be for him.), Poe gives a flyby whistle as he passes the table.

“She’s too good for you already,” he states.

He’s not sure why the comment makes him bristle.

“Fuck off, Dameron.”

\--

Ben’s day starts much earlier than others. He has to get to the shop before it opens, go through voicemails and emails, check inventory, open the safe… the list goes on. He pulls his Epsilon up to the curb, the sidecar attached. During Valentine’s Day and Mother’s Day weeks, he’s usually helping run orders. The motorcycle growls underneath him, a reminder that he needs to get a tune up, as he unhooks his black, metal helm and powers off the ignition. 

While Ben begins to grab his things from the sidecar--his satchel, his scarf, his phone-- his eyes dart up to the shop next to First Order Flowers.

Alderaan Places doubles as a tattoo parlor and a garage. There’s a side building that houses the latter, and even without going in, the place exudes an aura of 80s biker gang. The neon OPEN sign is dead in the morning, the windows clean but covered in ridiculous warning posters like “DON’T BE DRUNK!!” and “NO KIDS” scrawled with magic marker. 

Ben idly wonders when Rey is doing her chest piece. 

Then shakes his head, and goes to open his own shop.

\--

He’s elbow deep in stargazer lilies when he hears the bell on the door jingle. 

“Give me a minute,” he says without looking up. He adjusts the white-pink-red flower to the center, adding some accents to the sides. 

“That looks good,” Rey’s voice states. “Nice split complementary color scheme.”

Ben’s gaze darts up. “Going to tattoo it?”

Her eyes widen. “Can I?”

“I was being sarcastic.”

“I know. But seems like it’s on the table now.”

He sends her a look full of frustration he doesn’t quite feel, quick fingers inserting a card for the customer. 

She gives out a short laugh. “To My Everything, For Everything.” Her tattooed fingers drum on the display glass he’s working on. “Are they all that terrible?”

“Yes,” he says without hesitation. 

“Do you come up with them?”

The withering stare he gives her is enough for Rey to raise her hands in surrender. “Just would’ve changed the reading tone a bit, if you had.” She grins. “More like Fuck You flowers, if you wrote it.”

The snort escapes him as he spruces up the iris stems in the arrangement. “What do you need?”

“Everything for my everything.”

Not glorifying that with a response, Ben ties a ribbon around the arrangement seamlessly, then turns his attention to her. Rey smiles, something that lightens up her face and makes him feel uneasy, as she lifts up her phone.

“Take a look.”

His eyes narrow as he takes in the (small, smeared, cracked) screen. Then widen as he realizes he is looking at a woman’s chest-- colored in vibrant reds and pinks and highlighted just right for her skintone. It’s the peonies. And they look perfect. Aside from…

“A lot of blood,” he observes.

“It’s a chest piece,” she says slowly. “Turned out nice, didn’t it?”

“Better than the first sketch.”

“God you’re such an ass,” she says with only minimal heat, before she turns it off and stores the phone in her back pocket. She looks at his arrangement one more time. “But really, could I tattoo this?”

He frowns. “It’s my intellectual property.”

“So, no?”

Ben considers. She doesn’t pressure him, just waits. Finally, he just turns the vase around, so she can see it from the front.

“Make sure you do it justice,” he mumbles, before he walks into the back to finish another order.

\--

The next day, she comes in a little after lunch. Ignoring the customers that mill around the displays, Rey makes a beeline straight for his counter and flops her arm down on it, forearm and palm-up.

“Did it last night,” she says proudly.

Ben looks at the slightly raised, irritated skin of her arm. In the middle of a few other tattoos, rests his arrangement with the stargazers. Everything is identical from his own design, except the card has different lettering.

Instead of  _ Everything, For My Everything,  _ it says in script  _ Fuck you <3\.  _

The laugh escapes him before he thinks to filter it, startling his customers and making Rey laugh to meet it.

\--

Ben’s having an absolute Hell Day. It’s the twelfth, so the orders are coming in much quicker than he can arrange them, and the displays are growing skimpier and skimpier as people buy them faster than he can replace them. Not for the first time, he regrets being the only florist on-hand, but he also knows he wouldn’t trust anyone after that Hux fiasco.

The door rings.

“What have you got for food?”

Ben looks up, to see Rey strolling in. Her fingers are tucked into the pockets of overall shorts (still  _ shorts,  _ the lunatic), hair up in a messy bun and her body seems stiff when she moves--as though she's been sitting for awhile.

“What?” He manages.

“Food. Don’t you have like. I don’t know. Seductive fruit or something in here?” She begins opening and shutting his refrigeration units. Scavenging.

“Why don’t you just go to the coffee shop?”

“Poe’s is packed, and I have another appointment at 1.” She looks over her shoulder, just so he can see the look of disapproval on her face. “Back to back couple’s tattoos.”

“Of what?”

“Portraits.” Her disapproving look grows. “On their  _ feet _ .”

He scowls in mutual distaste. “Hold on.”

A moment later, and he has a small crate of strawberries in his hand. “Here.”

“How much?”

“Just take them. And stop letting cold air out of the refrigeration.”

Rey grabs it. “Thanks. Mind if I eat here?”

“...What?”

“I just sterilized the work station. And Leia’s babysitting the shop while Han’s at the races. She’s got a thing about eating in front of customers in the lobby-” As though she realizes who she’s talking to, her cheeks flush the same color as the fruit she starts to snack on. “You, uh, probably know that better than me.”

He watches her. Part of him...upset that she knows who he is. Who his parents are. “Probably.”

She chews, open-mouthed, as she asks her next question. “How come you don’t tattoo?”

“I didn’t want to,” he says shortly.

Rey looks around the shop. Swallows. Ben fidgets with the spool of ribbon in front of him. “Then how’d you get going in flowers?”

“This was my grandmother’s shop.”

“Are you close?”

“We were.”

She nods. “That’s nice, then. That you’re keeping this going, I mean.”

“I don’t do it because it’s nice.” 

“Ah, right. The vast spoils of floristry.”

He’s about to snap at the comment, but then he realizes she’s grinning. She’s...joking. At him. With him? He doesn’t know and he’s frustrated by it. “Why do you tattoo, then?”

Rey shrugs. “I liked drawing. My biological father noticed I wasn’t half bad, and tried to make some money off it. Traded me as an apprentice to a shop when I was thirteen in exchange for wiping away some of his gambling debt.”  

“Traded,” he repeats hollowly.

She looks away. “Yeah, well. I suppose I got something out of it.” Rey makes a show of looking at the wall clock that hangs on the ceiling, shoving the half-eaten box of strawberries at him. “Shit, almost one. Eat some of these.”

Ben watches her go, frowning. It’s only noon.

\--

The next day she doesn’t show up. And it’s an unsettling feeling, hovering over him as he comes in early and stays late. As he slowly restocks his displays and gets more ribbon and flexes his fingers when they become too sore from doing the calligraphy on the cardstock. 

When he locks up for the night, and sees the blue halo from Alderaan’s “OPEN” sign, he pauses.

Damn it.

\--

He hates this shop. The door opens, and immediately he’s assaulted by Led Zeppelin and the smell of antiseptic soap. There’s the low buzzing of needles from down the hall, where the curtained tattooist stations are, and the walls are lined with flash designs and pictures from artists’ portfolios. He sees his father’s traditional style, all heavy black lines and what he thinks are cliche designs of roses, snakes, anchors, and pin-ups. Chewie’s black and grey work is easy to single out as well. Realism, portraits, and script for the most part. His honorary uncle had been the first one to buy him calligraphy sets, after all.

Ben pauses when he sees her work. He recognizes it instantly for the bright saturation, the illustrative style. The sense of humor in some of the designs. He’s thrown when he also sees geometric and biomechanical work, all of it with crisp lines and clear understandings of machines and anatomy. 

“Welcome to Alderaan, how can I- oh.” 

Ben’s gaze pivots to the receptionist. He recognizes the new desk worker-- dark eyeliner, hair done up in small buns. Kaydel or something.

She stares at him, confused. “Leia already left for the day.”

“I figured.”

“...are you getting tattooed?”

Apparently his expression gives her the answer to that. “Then what do you need?”

He shifts his weight from foot to foot, keeping his hands in the pockets of his pea coat. Already he feels stupid and foolish. This was a bad idea.

“Where’s Rey?” 

If she’s confused by the question, she doesn’t show it. Instead, Kaydel just points down the hall. “Last booth on the left.”

He nods, then storms by without another word.

\--

Rey’s workstation isn’t what he expects. For one, there’s potted plants lined up against the far counter with her portfolio. He recognizes them-- a Boston fern, a ficus, and a bamboo palm--air purifiers. The curtain is the same heavy black as the rest of them, and when he pulls it back, the first thing he notices is that the walls have images plastered all over them. Not just her designs, but also photographs and paintings-- most of the latter in watercolor, and nearly all of them landscapes. 

The next thing he notices is that she’s with a customer. A man a little older than Rey sits in a chair, wearing a sleeveless shirt as she carves something into his arm. Her purple-gloved hands are spread over the width of his considerable bicep, saturating his arm in royal blue. The buzz from her tattoo gun is rhythmic and peaceful-- she has a light hand judging from the wide smile on the man’s face and the relaxed pose he’s in.

“-so I said ‘scum, rebel scum’ and her  _ face _ -!” 

Rey breaks out into a laugh, eyes crinkling at the corners. “Oh I bet she had a moment with that.”

“Gave us fifty off rent, though.”

“Excellent. I’ll take it out of your tattoo-”

“Rey,” Ben interrupts, not understanding this exchange but not liking it. Not liking how close she leans down when she wipes off excess ink. 

The buzzing stops, and both Rey and her customer look up. 

“Ben?” She asks. “Are you wanting a tattoo?”

Once again, his face must do the talking for him, because she grins. “Didn’t think so.” She turns to her customer. “Mind if I take a fiver?”

The customer looks from Rey, to Ben, and back to Rey. His eyebrows raise. “Go for it.”

Rey swats him on the arm without an open wound, before she peels off her gloves and dumps them in the biohazard bin. She walks out of her station, leaning against the counter. “What brings you over?”

He doesn’t know how to answer that.  _ Because you didn’t  _ sounds like a pathetic excuse at best, and there’s really no legitimate reason for him to be here at all. 

So he pulls out the box from inside his pea coat and shoves it at her. “Here.”

Rey carefully grabs the half-eaten container of strawberries. “You could’ve-”

“I didn’t.”

She meets his eyes. He looks at the light fixture above them. “I, uh, thank you.” Her eyes narrow in suspicion. “Unless there’s something wrong with them?”

“They’re fine.”

“Ah. Okay then. Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.” It comes out from between his teeth.

“Are you alright?”

His gaze snaps back down to her. “Fine.”

There’s a long silence. She watches him. He watches her. Her cheeks look red, which is strange.

“Was there, um.” Rey scratches the back of her neck. “Anything else?”

“No.”

Another long silence. 

“Thanks for the strawberries,” she tries again.

First he’s staring at her eyes. Then her lips. Then he scowls.

“Good night,” he declares, turning on his heel and leaving as quickly as he came in.

\--

The next night finds him boxed in his shop. It’s late. Probably close to eleven, and Ben can no longer feel his fingers. He sits at his table, dozens of small cards in front of him and his calligraphy pen tight in his grip. In one hour it’s V-Day, and then the madness will end.

There’s a tap on the window.

Stupidly, Ben watches as Rey waves. Then she lifts up a bag in her hand-- takeout.

Is she mocking him? 

“Hey idiot!” She yells through the glass. “It’s still cold as balls out here!”

“What?” He yells back.

“Let me in!”

\--

Rey is actually not half-bad at flower arranging. He suspects it’s due in part to her art background, but all the blooms follow basic tenets of color theory, and the expensive flowers are the obvious focal point in every vase. He watches her when he takes breaks from filling out cards or stuffing his face with noodles. She smiles when she works, and hums Led Zeppelin. For some reason, it’s not as obnoxious when she does it.

“You don’t have to fill my orders,” he says again. 

“I won’t screw them up,” she counters. Her fingers fluff up some baby’s breath. “And it’s a fair trade for your intellectual property.”

He frowns. “The tattoo on your arm?”

She sends him a guilty glance. “And the orchids I tattooed yesterday. Sorry, would’ve asked but you looked ready to explode when I checked in on my lunch and I needed a quick reference.”

“Then this is bribery lo mein,” he observes.

“A little. Did it work?”

He looks at the half dozen orders Rey has arranged since she’s been here, and reluctantly nods.

Companionable silence fills the space as they work. He sneaks glances at her when he can. He notices that on her other arm there’s a sleeve that starts as a desert and fades into green vines and forest-patterns by the time it reaches her forearm. 

“Why landscapes?” He asks, flexing out his hand.

She turns, tilting her head. “What?”

“On your arms.”

“Oh.” One of her hands self-consciously wraps around the opposite bicep. “Guess I’m full of wanderlust.”

“Were you always in Jakku?”

“Until recently, yeah. Then me and Finn-- my roommate, the guy you saw me tattooing--packed it up and came here to Takodana.” 

There’s annoyance at the knowledge that Rey has a male roommate, and he suspects he knows the reason for it. “Anywhere in the world, and you come here,” he intones dryly.

She sends him a side glance. “Ran into Han at a tattoo convention. He offered me a job.”

Ben forces himself to look back at the stationary. He doesn’t want to talk about Han. “Do you like it?”

“Love it,” she says with a happy shrug. “Getting to work on cars on the weekends is an added bonus. I used to do that back at Plutt’s.”

“Plutt?”

“The man I apprenticed with. He had his hand in just about everything in Niima.” Rey drops her attention from the flowers as she finishes an arrangement, hopping onto the stool across from him. “What about you? What’s keeping you in Takodana?”

Ben sneaks another glance at her. Then looks back down. “This shop.”

“Right,” Rey nods. “Your grandmother’s.” 

“Yes.”

She leans forward. “So what’s your favorite flower?”

“I don’t have favorites.”

“Liar.”

Ben considers the question when it’s apparent that she’s not going to let it go. Finally he mumbles out an answer. “Coleus.”

“Coleus?”

“It’s a-”

“I know what it is.” She tilts her head, as though looking at him in a new light. “I guess that makes sense. Hates the sun, hard to kill.”

Ben glares. “It’s a good indoor plant.”

“Yes,” Rey nods. “Very...viney.”

He sends her tattooed arm a pointed look, and her brows raise.

“What? I can like viney, too.”

“And your favorite?” He doesn’t look at her when he asks the question.

“Hm. Sunflowers,” she settles on without thinking too much.

“Why?” He presses, a little disappointed in the commonality of her answer.

Her eyes glint with humor. “You can eat them.”

\--

She leaves a little after that. Ben looks at the arrangements, and feels something coming to mind that makes him uncomfortable. But determined.

\--

The next morning is V-Day. He dresses appropriately, a dress shirt with a waistcoat, suspenders underneath keeping his black trousers in place. Ben arrives early, a little after 5am, to already find a full inbox on his answering machine. The sound of desperate significant others fills the air as he plays through them and prepares for War.

He unlocks the door at 8am. And War it brings.

\--

Ben is on his feet, without breaks, until after 7pm. Once closing time hits, he is fast to flip the sign from OPEN to CLOSED, to sink into a chair and let out a long, long sigh. 

But the thought that hit him the night before doesn’t go away. And he looks at what he has left of his stock, and begins to design something in his mind.

\--

An hour later, he thinks it’s done. Pansies. Pea flowers. Stock flowers. Nasturtium. Chamomile. Even some cilantro blooms. In terms of arrangement, it’s a mess. Ben wraps the bouquet in plain, brown paper, and ties it with simple white ribbon. Then he leans down, and writes out his final card for the day.

\--

He storms into Alderaan with a mission on his mind and a heavyset scowl on his face. He ignores the bewildered stare of his father behind the welcoming desk, moving toward the last station where he knows she’ll be.

The curtain parts, he’s breathing a little heavier than normal, and Rey turns around on the stool set in front of her drafting table.

“Ben,” she greets, with a small little wave. “You look like shit.”

He does. Because it’s been about fifteen hours and Valentine’s Day  _ is the worst day of the year,  _ and he’s now angry that he’s doing this. That he worked up enough nerve, that he’s being a sentimental idiot.

He thrusts his arm out. “Here.”

Rey looks at his hand, then to his face. “Are those flowers?”

“Yes.”

“For me?”

“Yes.”

“...from you?”

He’s going to murder her. “ _ Yes. _ ” 

Rey stands up and walks to them. Gently, she takes them from his hand. She sends the flowers a look, then him a look, then the flowers again. Hesitantly, she pulls out the card.

On it, in his finest penmanship (which is very fine), is a simple message:

_ These are all edible. _

Rey looks at them, then him, then them again, and her face breaks out into an impossibly wide smile.

“I love them,” she says, eyes bright as she pushes herself up onto her tiptoes and presses a kiss to his cheek. “Thank you.”

Where she touched him burns the whole night through.

\--

The next morning, there’s a note pinned to the door of his shop when he goes to open.

_ I got you something, too. Stop by when you’re feeling brave. --Rey _

His heart beats hard in his chest and he can’t think throughout the entire day.

\--

7pm comes and goes. And Ben takes a deep breath before he walks back into Alderaan.

Han is at the desk, and he sends him an arch look. “You and the kid, huh?”

“Don’t say anything,” he bites back.

Han raises his hands. “She might be a little too good for you.”

“Fuck off, Han.”

“Hey!” He calls out to Ben’s retreating back. “It’s ‘Fuck off,  _ Dad _ ’!”

\--

The curtain’s already pinned back, as if she’s waiting for him. And when Ben takes a step in, he instantly knows that’s the case. In almost the exact same place as last night, Rey swivels around from the drafting table and lifts up a thin sheet of paper with thick, bold lines on it. 

“You actually showed up,” she manages in disbelief.

“Is this what I think it is,” Ben replies.

“Me and you?”

“No,” he steps closer, until he hovers over her. With a confidence he didn’t know he had, Ben braces his arms on either side of her, until he’s effectively caging her in. “I know where that’s going.”

Rey swallows. “Oh.”

“Oh.”

“...you mean the tattoo, then.”

He nods, the motion letting his nose brush against hers. 

Rey scoots back a little before she ducks under his arm and turns. “I started it yesterday. What do you think?”

She lifts up the thin paper to the light. And Ben sees a detailed outline of what can only be a coleus. It’s obvious she’s worked hard on it, that it highlights the best of her artistic ability. 

He gives the barest of nods. “Passable.”

She shakes her head. “Ass. Where do you want it?”

Wordlessly, he shrugs out of his black sweater. He likes the feel of her stare on him, the boldness that he experiences around her. Ben turns and points at his now bare left pectoral. 

Rey does a little cough. “Uh, good. Go ahead and sit in the chair-”

Her sentence is cut off when he decides to step forward, to grab her face in both of his hands, and press his lips to hers. Rey gives a small catch of an exhale when it happens, before she kisses him back, hands resting on his shoulders as she goes up on her tiptoes once again. Ben’s heart is thudding hard, every cell in his body electric and intense and he lets out an audible growl when, after a moment, Rey gently pushes him back.

Her hand covers her lips, her face flushed and her breathing a little short. 

“What?” He asks in protest.

She blinks, a little dazed. “I’m at work.”

“So?”

“So it might look bad if I’m caught making out with the owner’s son in my sterile workstation.”

He’s not  _ sullen,  _ not exactly, but there might be a hint of it in his body language as he collapses in the chair. Arms crossed over his stomach. 

“After?” He demands.

Rey starts to smooth the stencil down on his chest. “After,” she agrees.

\--

Five hours later, Ben has a coleus tattoo and a date for post-Valentine’s Day.


End file.
